on re-entering the sala the picture of woe was again presented, but in an altered aspect. a change, sudden as the atmospheric one we had just witnessed, had taken place; and the scene of wild weeping was now succeeded by one of resignation and prayer.

on one side was dona joaquina, holding in her hands a golden rosary with its crucifix. the girls were kneeling in front of a picture—a portrait of dolores with the fatal dagger; and the “lady of grief” looked not more sorrowful from the canvas than the beautiful devotees that bent before her.

with their heads slightly leaning, their arms crossed upon their swelling bosoms, and their long loose hair trailing upon the carpet, they formed a picture at once painful and prepossessing.

not wishing to intrude upon this sacred sorrow, we made a motion to retire.

“no, señores,” said don cosmé, interrupting us. “be seated; let us talk calmly—let us know the worst.”

we then proceeded to inform don cosmé of the landing of the american troops and the manner in which our lines were drawn around the city, and pointed out to him the impossibility of anyone passing either in or out.

“there is still a hope, don cosmé,” said i, “and that, perhaps, rests with yourself.”

the thought had struck me that a spaniard of don cosmé’s evident rank and wealth might be enabled to procure access to the city by means of his consul, and through the spanish ship of war that i recollected was lying off san juan.

“oh! name it, captain; name it!” cried he, while at the word “hope” the ladies had rushed forward, and stood clinging around me.

“there is a spanish ship of war lying under the walls of vera cruz.”

“we know it—we know it!” replied don cosmé eagerly.

“ah! you know it, then?”

“oh, yes!” said guadalupe. “don santiago is on board of her.”

“don santiago?” inquired i; “who is he?”

“he is a relation of ours, captain,” said don cosmé; “an officer in the spanish navy.”

this information pained me, although i scarcely knew why.

“you have a friend, then, aboard the spanish ship,” said i to the elder of the sisters. “’tis well; it will be in his power to restore to you your brother.”

a ring of brightening faces was around me while i uttered these cheering words; and don cosmé, grasping me by the hand, entreated me to proceed.

“this spanish ship,” i continued, “is still allowed to keep up a communication with the town. you should proceed aboard at once, and by the assistance of this friend you may bring away your son before the bombardment commences. i see no difficulty; our batteries are not yet formed.”

“i will go this instant!” said don cosmé, leaping to his feet, while dona joaquina and her daughters ran out to make preparations for his journey.

hope—sweet hope—was again in the ascendant.

“but how, señor?” asked don cosmé, as soon as they were gone; “how can i pass your lines? shall i be permitted to reach the ship?”

“it will be necessary for me to accompany you, don cosmé,” i replied; “and i regret exceedingly that my duty will not permit me to return with you at once.”

“oh, señor!” exclaimed the spaniard, with a painful expression.

“my business here,” continued i, “is to procure pack-mules for the american army.”

“mules?”

“yes. we were crossing for that purpose to a plain on the other side of the woods, where we had observed some animals of that description.”

“’tis true, captain; there are a hundred or more; they are mine—take them all!”

“but it is our intention to pay for them, don cosmé. the major here has the power to contract with you.”

“as you please, gentlemen; but you will then return this way, and proceed to your camp?”

“as soon as possible,” i replied. “how far distant is this plain?”

“not more than a league. i would go with you, but—” here don cosmé hesitated, and, approaching, said in a low tone: “the truth is, señor capitan, i should be glad if you could take them without my consent. i have mixed but little in the politics of this country; but santa anna is my enemy—he will ask no better motive for despoiling me.”

“i understand you,” said i. “then, don cosmé, we will take your mules by force, and carry yourself a prisoner to the american camp—a yankee return for your hospitality.”

“it is good,” replied the spaniard, with a smile.

“señor capitan,” continued he, “you are without a sword. will you favour me by accepting this?”

don cosmé held out to me a rapier of toledo steel, with a golden scabbard richly chased, and bearing on its hilt the eagle and nopal of mexico.

“it is a family relic, and once belonged to the brave guadalupe victoria.”

“ha! indeed!” i exclaimed, taking the sword; “i shall value it much. thanks, señor! thanks! now, major, we are ready to proceed.”

“a glass of maraschino, gentlemen?” said don cosmé, as a servant appeared with a flask and glasses. “thank you—yes,” grunted the major; “and while we are drinking it, señor don, let me give you a hint. you appear to have plenty of pewter.” here the major significantly touched a gold sugar-dish, which the servant was carrying upon a tray of chased silver. “take my word for it, you can’t bury it too soon.”

“it is true, don cosmé,” said i, translating to him the major’s advice. “we are not french, but there are robbers who hang on the skirts of every army.”

don cosmé promised to follow the hint with alacrity, and we prepared to take our departure from the rancho.

“i will give you a guide, señor capitan; you will find my people with the mulada. please compel them to lasso the cattle for you. you will obtain what you want in the corral. adios, señores!”

“farewell, don cosmé!”

“a dios, capitan! adios! adios!”

i held out my hand to the younger of the girls, who instantly caught it and pressed it to her lips. it was the action of a child. guadalupe followed the example of her sister, but evidently with a degree of reserve. what, then, should have caused this difference in their manner?

in the next moment we were ascending the stairway.

“lucky dog!” growled the major. “take a ducking myself for that.”

“both beautiful, by jove!” said clayley; “but of all the women i ever saw, give me ‘mary of the light’!”